


the necessity for apologies between you and me, baby there is none

by kingmoriarty



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: AU, Angst, BAMF Q, Banter, Bond is 25 or so, Dom/sub Undertones, First Kiss, Gun Kink, Hurt Q, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, Pining, Protective James Bond, Q is 16, Q is a Holmes, Q is a civilian, Q is also a genius, Seductive!Q, Teenage!Q, Tempted!Bond, Top James Bond, Torture, only very subtle references though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-08-28 06:15:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8434792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingmoriarty/pseuds/kingmoriarty
Summary: James realises he's somehow leaned ridiculously close to the boy. James leans closer still, only a fraction of a centimetre, but he sees how Q's pupils seem to dilate and God he wants.Then he remembers that this boy is 16, that he might possibly have a boyfriend, that he might possibly be an agent out to kill him, and the moment is shattered.





	1. how old are you really?

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first 00Q fic. Thank you so much for reading! If there are any discrepancies or any wrong details, please please please let me know in the comments. Also please leave kudos/a comment if you'd like me to continue this! 
> 
> All the love,  
> R

Two nights before his latest mission R-Branch gifts James a Glock 19 and the instructions to take an Uber at 1200 hours to Brampton, Oxfordshire.

James is not happy, to say the least. He's being sent off for an indefinite amount of time on a recon mission to a quiet, isolated settlement. And James doesn't do quiet, isolated settlements - he needs the city. He needs London: London air in his lungs, the hustle and bustle of commuters. London might just be his favourite place in the world. You could present bloody Atlantis on a platter for James to delve into and he would still choose London.

R would say that espionage should be exciting enough for James to disregard the dainty, monotonous village he's going to. But James can't agree with her. Espionage has become dull. Especially when it comes to terrorists, rapists, traffickers. They're all the same - cruel, predictable, and pathetically boring.

In which case James needs to be somewhere he can not only find something to do but also blend in. And he's going to stick out like a sore thumb as a newcomer to Brampton.

James honest to God hopes that something exciting happens to him on this mission.

 

***

 

It is the second day into his mission. He's just settling into a government bought apartment under the pretext of visiting a relative. He can only pray that nobody asks him about his "relative". Lying is such a chore. 

He needs to establish himself as a welcoming newcomer to the community, rather than a recluse, so he's taking a walk at around 1800 hours. The walk also gives him a good chance to get well acquainted with his new surroundings. The sky is a dim grey, the promise of night soon to come. James' hands are in the pockets of his jeans' as he strolls down the nearest main road, which is only a few streets over from his accommodation. 

He sees a bunch of girls laughing near the area's high school gates. He sees a relatively small Tesco tucked around the corner. There are identical Field Maple trees lining the street on either side. He sees a black cat curled on the step of a house. A church opposite the Tesco. 

He sees a young boy sitting against a wall next to the Church, reading the first volume of War and Peace.

James stops walking. The boy has a ridiculous mop of hair on his head, and the top of his glasses peek out from behind his copy of War and Peace. 

It's merely curiosity that makes James cross the road and walk towards him. At closer look, the boy has almost elfish features. Pink lips. 

"You okay?" James says. He does his best to keep his voice casual. Tells himself that anyone new would be concerned that a young boy is reading leaning against a wall rather than cosied up at home. 

The boy looks up. His eyes seem to be hazel, flecks of green and brown mixing together. He looks James up and down, and then returns his attention to his book. "Not a prostitute. By the way, the people here aren't particularly fond of paedophiles."

Any reply James had been thinking of before dies in his throat. He's taken aback by the boy's wit. He'd be walking away already if it wasn't for the playful tone in the boy's voice. James simply smiles and steers the conversation to the book in his hands. If this boy wants to act smart, he's by all means invited to give James the opportunity for some amusing rebuttals. "Only on volume one? Your liking to acting overly smart suggests otherwise."

The boy looks up again. "Actually this is my fourth time re-reading this. There are always new things to learn."  

James once again finds himself defeated and in need of changing the topic of conversation. From the smirk on the boy's face it's obvious that he can tell. "What are you doing reading on the street? Not have a home to go to?" He means to be funny but takes another look at the boy's ratty copy of War and Peace and his dusty cardigan and for a moment thinks he might have touched upon a nerve. However the boy only barks out a laugh and James takes a breath of relief.

"Is that another subtle way of you trying to get me in your bed?" James is astonished at how bold the boy is, especially when he looks like a fluffy deer. As if having read his mind, the boy sighs. "Please don't tell me you're thinking of how my soft appearance is incongruous to my inclination to veer the conversation towards the subject of sex. Trust me, you're better than that." 

"Does that happen often?" James fires back. "People judging your inclination towards sex?" 

"On the contrary, I'm sure you've picked up loads of 18 year-old boys in your lifetime."

Q cocks his head and squints at Bond slightly, as if gauging his response. Bond catches up on his inquisition quickly - there's no way he couldn't when the boy looks like _that_. "Eighteen? No way."

"Seventeen."

"Try again." 

Q grins. "Really? Do I not even look old enough to be seventeen? You bruise my ego."

"How old are you really?"

"Sixteen."

Bond's moral compass should be pointing him in the opposite direction at this newfound information. Instead Bond is left wondering how a 16 year-old can be so bloody sharp-witted. "What is a 16 year-old doing alone on a Saturday evening doing sitting outside Church? Got sins to repent for?"

"Waiting for a.. friend, actually." The way he says 'friend' makes Bond think he either means something else entirely or doesn't know what the word really means. For once, James can't tell. "Though I do come to repent for my numerous sins, from time to time." 

Bond smiles. Tries to keep fondness out of it as much as possible. Checks his watch for the time and says, "Well, I have an engagement of myself to be going to. Have a good evening." He starts to walk off before the boy can reply. Then he goes home, and lies in his bed feeling much more lonely than he does normally.

 


	2. looking for someone?

James' mission is a 'criminal mastermind'.

When R doesn't launch into an onslaught of information about the target during a call the next evening, James raises his eyebrows.

"Is that all the information you have on this criminal overlord?" he teases.

The comm is silent for a moment. James has been bouncing a tennis ball on the wall opposite for the past twenty minutes. He stops, catching the ball on the rebound, the muscles in his arm flexing. "Well.. yes."

James stands from his position on the couch. "I expected a dossier of information on my target when I got here," James says, his tone accusing. 

"M instructed me to-"

"M." James scoffs. "Of course. Who else would send me blind into a mission without even bloody  _telling_ me?"

"We do have one piece of information. It's... well. He's male." 

James ponders this for a moment. Male. An image of the boy from the previous evening manifests itself in his head - a brilliant mind behind a slender, lithe body. He drags his hand over his face in frustration. "R, I think I'll talk to you in the morning."

"007-"

James takes the earpiece out of his ear and chucks it lightly onto the couch behind him. He can still hear the buzz of R's voice, tinny and distant. 

Male. James groans. He only connected his target to the boy he met because criminal mastermind seemed to fit well with the boy's intelligence. He imagines the boy brandishing a gun, the gun metal contrasting beautifully against his pale complexion. His slender fingers exhilaratingly close to the trigger...

James laughs at himself, thinking back to his psych evaluation.  _Probable depression, paranoid tendencies, prone to nightmares._

_Glamorisation of violence and drugs._

James finds himself dragging his hand over his face once again. He cannot be thinking about a boy - a 16 year-old one - right now. Having a mission with no previous intel is bad enough. He has enough on his hands. _A mission._  

Next, James would stay up until an untimely hour to put together all the information he had on his mission and forge some sort of vague plan. Instead he uses the fact that he knows next to nothing about his target as an excuse to drink most of the night way. 

 

***

 

James wakes up at 5:12 with a start, gasping for air as he throws the duvet off the bed. It was someone, a face he can't now remember, but that's not what's important. What it was, what the focus was, was his hands wrapped around somebody's throat. And he couldn't tell why. Something in the back of his mind was screaming at him -  _What are you doing, 007? -_ but his hands still maintained their chokehold.

His hand goes to rub at the nape of his neck when he realises he's a sweating mess. God. He swings his legs out of his bed to plant his feet firmly on the wooden floor, and wonders when he became this person. The person who'd rather drink than sleep, the person who needs more excitement than terrorists and espionage. 

He gazes out of the window. The sky is just beginning to lighten, the sun peeking over a neat row of houses.  _Anything for Queen and country,_ he tells himself.  _Right?_

 

***

 

"I want to speak to M."

"No," R replies matter-of-factly. 

"R-"

" _No._ The fiasco you pulled last night was enough, 007. We don't have time for you to throw another tantrum." James shuts up at that. "Anything you want to know from M, I can tell you. You weren't briefed fully about this mission, about going in dark, because an individual higher up said this mission shouldn't be mentioned until the respective agent has been transferred to the target location. As far as anyone else is aware, this mission does not exist. Before you ask how we know about this man's existence when we know nothing else about him, or his activities, he made himself known to us. But one thing is for sure, this man is extremely dangerous. Trust me, I know."

James contemplates R's response as he downs a cup of coffee. He knows enough to understand that _Trust me I know_ is a strong warning. It also hints the fact Bond doesn't have enough clearance to see for himself how 'dangerous' this man is, something rare in even his line of work. "And he mentioned the location, here, when he made himself known?" 

"Yes."

"So I'm bait," James deduces, but there is no anger in voice. In fact, he might quite possibly be _excited_ for once.

"In theory, yes." There is a hint of a smile in her voice.

"What about in practicality?" James is throwing on a t-shirt quickly as he makes his way out of his bedroom and through the living room. 

"In practicality, 007, you kick his ass."

He opens the door to his apartment with a flourish, theatrically almost, and grins. "Tell me how to find him."

"With pleasure."

 

***

 

The plan, courtesy of R, is to pinpoint any gangs or drug circles and then trace their activity back to the leader. 

It's easier said than done.

Right now James is at a pub named the Lucky Star. Intel and statistics show that a main gang - the Syntax - operate in the area. It's not even noon yet but the pub is fairly bustling with people. Contrary to popular belief, the pub  _isn't_ full to the brim with tattooed henchman challenging each other to arm wrestles. In fact, at first glance, James can't tell which people are potential gang members and which are normal citizens. 

It's never that easy.

James needs to really observe the people around him and hope someone can let some information slip. 

In the meanwhile, he waves the bartender over. "I'll have a vodka martini." 

He gauges the bartender's behaviour to sharpen his observational skills. It's a warm up. The bartender smiles but it isn't long enough to be genuine. He's only smiling to be a good member of staff. He's definitely straight - he doesn't maintain eye contact with James for long and instead is chatting heartily with a young woman a few stools down. 

James shifts his focus to the girl. She's laughing openly, head thrown back, which means she's enjoying the conversation. Her body language is relaxed and open - maybe a bit too relaxed. She's either known the bartender long enough to be that comfortable with him, or she isn't interested enough to show any sign of tension in her body.

The bartender returns with his drink a few moments later. James ignores it for the moment and continues his gaze across to the back of the bar. There are a few people - a woman and two men - playing poker, huddled over the their table with strong enthusiasm. They look more like mates than gang members; there is no sense of hostile competition between them, but instead they seem to be enjoying themselves regardless of the state of the game. 

There's a man drinking a beer in the corner. And he's staring back at James, his eyes ever so slightly narrowed. He's sitting relaxed enough in his corner, but the strong lift of his chin is confrontational and threatening. James feels someone sit down on the stool next to him, but ignores the person and takes careful note of the man watching him. He seems a good 5''11, has military-style closely cropped hair-

"Looking for someone?"

James freezes.

He knows that voice. 

He turns his head sharply to face the boy from the evening before.  _How the hell does he know he's here to look for someone?_ James racks his mind, paranoia setting in.

Then he remembers that this boy is arrogant and flirtatious, and that he's clearly referring to himself. 

James thinks of expressing his concern that a 16 year-old boy is at a pub, but he's sure that would lead to nowhere. Instead he takes a moment to try and read him. The boy looks back at him, mischief in his eyes as James looks him over.

All he sees is a boy in dire need of a haircut.

"I'm busy." James says dismissively, shooting the boy a stoic expression.

"Doing what?" A smile is playing on his lips.

"Drinking, what else? God."

"Your drink is untouched." 

James feels himself instinctively clenching his left hand in frustration and reaches for his drink with his right, as if to make a point. The boy notices, his eyes darting down, and casually brushes his fingers against James' hand, his touch lingering at the top of his thigh. James sucks in a breath and turns once again to glare at the bold boy. 

"Leave." When the boy raises an eyebrow he adds: "Before I tell the bartender to kick you out."

The boy literally  _pouts._  For some reason James finds it hard to look away from his lips."Come on, don't be such a bad sport."

James ignores him and instead turns to look at the man he had noticed earlier in the corner. The real reason he's even at the pub. 

The man is gone. James' irritation seems to increase further, some how. He stands up, throws a fiver on the counter, and leaves.

The boy is smart enough, for once, not to follow him out.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading once again! If you want me to continue please do leave a comment, it really encourages me to update! Also please, constructive criticism is really really helpful for me, so if you have any improvement to suggest please don't hesitate. 
> 
> \- R


	3. it's a boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the lack of 00Q until right till the end of the chapter! (And it's quite a long chapter this time too, so sorry if it's too long!) 
> 
> I need to establish the plot, of course, but I promise that the next chapter will be the most 00Q-heavy chapter so far! 
> 
> Also I know I only have like 3.5 readers (the ones who comment, I mean) but I'd like to thank them all the same because the comments shortened my updating time from like 4203923 weeks to a couple of days. And the support in general is amazing, so thank you! 
> 
> Also apologies for any typos - I'm tired af

His phone rings as soon as James gets back to his apartment. The tracker in his watch must've alerted R that he's returned.

"Report," R greets. It's quite a cold way to open conversation but James notes that he can hear the shuffling of paper distinctly in the background so she must be busy.

"I found a Person of Interest, name unknown, at The Lucky Star. Age between 30-50."

"Give me all the details you remember and I'll run it through a database search."

"Male. 5"11, maybe 12. Black hair, closely cropped."

He zones out for a few seconds as R taps the information into her computer. When she's done there's an awkward pause, where James realises that he has nothing more to add.

"Yes? Is that it?"

"He..." James tries to shift back to the memory - God, it was only one bloody hour ago - but he comes up with nothing.

"Identifying marks? Any tattoos, scars, moles?"

"I don't... think so..."

His brain stutters. All he can remember is the light feather touch of the boy's fingers against his thigh.

Jesus.

"007, you seem a bit distracted."

James' voice gains an angry edge at that. "All I'm saying is that I didn't get a good enough look at the target. I lost him after about two minutes."

"You lost the target in a pub?" She asks skeptically.

James curses his libido for resulting in him looking so damn incompetent. "I'll be going back tonight. I'm sure he'll be there, if not alone then with other potential Persons of Interest. I would've looked suspicious if I detailed every physical aspect of the man."

"Fine." R replies. From her tone James can tell that she sees right through his excuses.

The line cuts and James flops onto the bed. He pulls a cigarette out of his pocket and puts it in his mouth. He's sure that the man will be there tonight. _No more slip ups James_ , he tells himself. He's going to find a whole group of those goddamned rats even if it's the only thing he does this evening.

And he's definitely going to stop thinking about that boy. He doesn't even know his fucking name, and yet he's gotten under his skin for some reason and all in all it just needs to _stop_.

R tells him to get to the Lucky Star at 2000 hours. That gives him plenty of time to do absolutely nothing. He cleans his gun meticulously - twice - and then he wanders off into the kitchen with the intention of cooking a healthy meal. He returns into the living room with a microwaveable meal in his hand.

Every time his mind strays towards him, James shakes his head. It's hard with 4 hours of free time, though. He has a lot of time to think.

 

***

 

James gets to the pub at 1940 hours.

"Okay, I'm here," he says into his comm just before he walks in. He peers through the windows inconspicuously, trying as best as he can to make out the people inside. There are people everywhere. "As of now I cannot see the target."

"Understood," R replies. Then the comm goes silent.

He just about finds a stool at the bar, and only because a woman and man sitting in the corner decide to leave. He takes the stool right at the end, hopes nobody decides to sit next to him, and waves the bartender over for a drink.

He'd swept the pub again as soon as he stepped in. No-one seemingly of interest is there, and more importantly, the Person of Interest from before has not made an appearance as of yet.

The bartender comes over - it's the same man from before. He shoots James a thin-lipped smile. "New here?"

"Yes. Can I have a-"

"Vodka martini?" The bartender finishes. He isn't flirting though, simply showing off. James just about stops himself from rolling his eyes.

"Yes, please."

The bartender makes James' drink and in the meanwhile decides to strike up a conversation. "So, what brings you to Brampton?" He flashes another smile. It's clear he's simply fishing for tips. _Boring._

"I have a relative here, actually, a cousin. He's sick."

"Ah, and what's his name?" He hands James his drink but stays for the conversation. James really wishes he would just leave him be to look around for his target.

"You wouldn't know him."

"Everyone knows everyone here."

James ignores his desperate attempt at gossip to take a few sips of his drink. "Wesley," he finally divulges. No matter how annoying the people there are, he can't afford to seem shifty to them. Plus, on second thought, the bartender could be useful.

The bartender shrugs. "Haven't heard of him."

Finally someone else calls the bartender for his services and he leaves. James thanks the Gods for a moment of peace and quietly indulges in his drink.

The door to the pub opens - the draught that enters is so strong it reaches even James near the back of the pub - and in walks in the man from before. James is relieved that he doesn't have to go back to his apartment with the only thing to give R being disappointment.

He averts his gaze from the man before he can notice him, and hides his face as best as he can behind his drink. He doesn't want the man to realise James has been following him.

James whispers into the comm: "He's here."

"Understood. Please do remember identifying details this time," she says drily.

If James is mildly irritated, he doesn't show it.

He can't start talking lengthily about the target into his comm - it'll draw attention. So he has to remember everything he notices and report when he gets to his apartment.

His target takes a seat in the corner booth, same as in the afternoon. However this time James can't get a proper look from where he is.

He figures he might be able to ask the bartender about him. He is, after all, inclined to conversation. He's busy right now with a few people down the bar, so James waits patiently. He keeps his eyes trained on the doors, in case anyone else decides to join his target at the booth.

The bartender seems engaged in his conversation with the couple of people he's talking with. James picks out a few phrases over the clamour of conversation around him: "Lennon wanted to stay..." "Law is crap if you ask me, whole load of jargon and nothing more", "Getting drunk Sunday night seems great until your lectures..." They seem to be his mates from university.

James is relaxed, drink in his hand and casually listening to the snippets of voices around him. So he nearly falls of his chair when he sees the boy enter.

He's with another boy. Really James thinks boy but he looks slightly older. Man, then.

The boy's companion has a beard and is a head taller.

James decides he doesn't like him. 

The boy hasn't noticed James and whilst deep down James wants him to, loves the thrill of the chase and the witty repartee and his wide eyes, he tells himself it is one hundred percent for the best. Two hundred percent, even.

He returns his attention to the bartender. Thankfully he's wrapped up the lively conversation with his mates and is serving a lady a few stools down from James. James signals to the bartender to come to him next.

The bartender is standing in front of James a few moments later. "Do you want me to refill your drink?"

"Please." James hands him his empty glass. The bartender is just about to go to make his drink but James adds: "I just wanted to ask something."

The bartender nods. "Go ahead."

"That boy, behind me. Ridiculous mop of head, glasses," he starts. He tells himself he's only warming the bartender with innocuous questions before he swoops in and asks about potential gang members. "He seems a bit too young to be here." James shrugs casually, makes sure his tone is disapproving rather than curious.

"Oh yeah. That's true, but he always comes here with his boyfriend so we let it slip."

Boyfriend.

James is not jealous.

"Right. Fair enough." The bartender turns around again to make his drink but James stops him. A look of exasperation flits across the bartender's face - it's fleeting, but it's there - and James smirks internally at having irritated the irritating bartender. "Sorry mate, just because you seem to know a lot about people here. That man in the corner booth. He's Wesley's friend but he seems a bit... dodgy. Just wanted to ask what you know about him."

The bartender instantly clams up at that. He swallows, and then frowns. "Ah.. no idea. Haven't seen him around before."

"I thought everyone knew everyone around here."

"Nah. I don't.. I don't know him."

"Fair enough."

James checks his watch as his drink is being made. Just over 2020 hours.

He's handed his second drink and the bartender once again leaves to tend to someone else. Not that James needs him - he's clearly too scared or something of the sort to tell James any more information.

James feels watched. His sixth sense prickles, and he's sure it's that boy. James turns to the woman sitting a few stools over from him and asks, having to raise his voice slightly over the noise, "Could you point me towards the toilets, love?"

She points past the booth James' target is sitting at.

James looks at the boy's booth instead, and sure enough he's looking at him. He grins at James noticing him. James can only see the back of his boyfriend's head. And then his boyfriend is turning his head too, trying to follow the boy's gaze.

James immediately averts his eyes from their booth and gets up to go to the toilets. He needs a closer look at his target.

He walks past the two booths and miraculously manages to restrain himself for once and completely avoid looking at the boy. Instead he makes sure to take in his target. In the few seconds he gets to really size up the man, who's too busy on his phone, thankfully, to notice James. He puts his weight at around 80kg and notes his eyes are green. There's also a scar on his left collarbone, cutting it right through the middle. It looks calculated. Precise.

James gets to the toilets and thanks the universe that noone else is there. He stares at himself in the mirror for a moment. He looks tired, but he isn't. _The joy of being a secret agent,_ James thinks ironically.

When he goes back out, the first thing he notices is that the boy and his boyfriend are gone.

Their booth is a mess. The bartender is cleaning shards of glass of the floor. James realises that they're the remains of a salt grinder that's been knocked to the floor.

James wonders for a moment whether he should stop and ask. He strongly tells himself that he can't come to be identified as the nosy newcomer by the bartender. It could lead to others shunning him, to James drawing too much attention to himself. He learnt his lesson when asking too many questions on a mission in Jamaica lead to people labelling him an undercover cop.

And anyways, it isn't any of his business.

 

***

 

James reaches his apartment at 2059 hours.

The first thing he does is pour himself some strong whiskey. The second, report back to R.

"He has green eyes, dark cropped hair, as I told you before. A scar on his left collarbone. I'd put his weight at around 80 to 90 kilograms."

R hums approvingly. "Well done, 007." She then proceeds to tap in the information.

James sips his whiskey as she does her work. The silence when she is done comes and James holds his breath for a second. "Well?"

"There's nothing."

James' brow furrows in confusion. "What do you mean there's _nothing_?"

"I mean there are no results."

"That's impossible. Try removing the scar from the criteria."

A beat later: "Nothing."

"Did you widen the-"

"007," R suddenly interrupts. "There's someone at your door."

True to her word, the doorbell rings a fraction of a second later. James gets up immediately, and grabs his gun. "Is it the target? Height I'd say is 5"11. Dark hair, should be wearing a black t-shirt. Is it him?"

James inches towards the door slowly. 

"It's a _boy_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the cliffhanger but I just had to! 
> 
> Also please remember to leave comments, it makes my day! (Also if anyone wants to be friends do hmu lmao)


	4. do you want me to stay?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies if this is kinda long, and also sorry for the lateness of the chapter! Hope you enjoy the 00Q!
> 
> Also just wanted to say there are references to Sherlock in this chapter, but very very briefly. I will not be incorporating any actual characters from Sherlock in the fic, but Q is a Holmes.

James lowers his gun, drops it to the floor, and kicks it out of sight.

"A boy?"

He doesn't know why he's asking. He knows exactly who it is.

"He has a large amount of floppy hair on his head. He's slender-"

"I know who he is."

A pause. "You know him?"

Yes, James knows him. He has green eyes and rose-pink lips. He's smart. He likes to read. He's devilishly seductive. When he smirks, James feels hot in all the wrong places. When he grins, it somehow feels like time itself has grinded to a standstill.

"Vaguely. I've seen him around the area."

He's not exactly lying.

"He looks quite distressed. Just wait a few minutes and I'm sure he'll leave-"

The doorbell rings again.

"I'm opening the door."

"007," R reprimands him, her tone almost venomous. "I can't get an ID on him. He's not cleared for communication. I strongly advise that you don't."

"Going dark. Will report back later."

James takes the earpiece out of his ear before R can reply, turns it off, and places it on the table.

Then, he opens the door.

The boy is standing there, hugging his jacket against him. He schools his expression into one of nonchalance as soon as he sees James' face, but James sees the flicker of something else the moment before. "Hello," he greets as he slips past James into the apartment, as if it's his own home.

He's still got the front of his jacket held tightly against him as he turns to look at him and James' brain whirrs. It's not cold inside his apartment. But there's no bulge of a weapon either.

"How the hell do you know where I live?"

"I followed you."

"You followed me."

"Yes- I- could you point me towards the toilet? We can have this conversation later." His voice is deeply sarcastic but James can see his demeanour fraying at the edges.

"Down the hall." James doesn't point. His hands are by his side, his shoulders tense, as he stares at this boy who's somehow ended up standing in the middle of his apartment.

He waits as the boy walks down towards the door at the end of the hall. James stays still until he's inside and has closed the door behind him. Then he's on the floor, fishing his gun out from under where he kicked it. He rushes to where he threw his holster after taking it off before and quickly puts it on. Then he slips his gun in and goes to get his leather jacket off the sofa.

He's shrugging on his jacket when he hears a series of loud sounds come from the bathroom. It's the sound of things clattering onto the floor and then a soft thud.

James jolts in alarm and then he's at the bathroom door. His hand is slipped inside his jacket, hand on his gun. His stomach churns in anticipation as he opens the door.

He doesn't know what he expected. But it certainly wasn't this.

The contents of the drawers under the sink are spilled out onto the floor, as is the coat. And the boy is slouched against the sink, the hem of his shirt soaked with blood.

The blood is a dark crimson. It's old, but only by a short while.

"God, where the fuck do you keep your first aid kit?" His tone is heavily nonchalant once again but James sees past it. His brow is furrowed in pain, his hand held against the dark patch of blood where his wound must be.

For a moment James can do nothing else but stare.

"What on Earth happened to you?" A strange surge of protectiveness washes over him. It's the first time he's seeing this boy with his guard down, and there's something strangely intimate about it with the both of them standing in his bathroom.

"Doesn't matter," he says through gritted teeth, and James realises just how much self-control the boy must have to walk into his apartment without showing even a hint of pain.

"My first aid kit's in the bedroom, come on."

The boy doesn't move at first. James raises an eyebrow. "I can't move." His voice is barely above a whisper. "It fucking burns."

James wonders how he walked all the way to his apartment.

"Just to the living room-"

"Can't you just bring the first aid kit here?"

He's so bloody stubborn. James sighs and moves towards the boy. He wraps his arm around his waist and tries to ignore the way his body tenses at James' touch. He's careful to avoid the boy's wound, and with his help they both hobble towards the living room sofa.

James leaves the boy on the sofa to get his first aid kit from the bedroom. When he's back, he really takes in the fact that this boy is an absolute mess. Wiry frame that makes James wonder when the last time he ate was and empty eyes that stare on at him.

He sits next to the boy, the first aid kit in his hands. His knee is digging into his leg, but the boy makes no effort to move so neither does James. He tells himself it's because there's no need to make a large fuss over physical contact. It's definitely not because James can't remember the last time he initiated physical contact without the intention of sex.

"Lift your arms."

James expects the boy to object to that too but he complies. He lifts both his arms as James puts the first aid kit to the side so that he can lean forward to take his shirt off.

The wound is deep. It looks to be made by a pocket knife of some sort. James looks up at the boy's face, maintaining eye contact with him, and asks: "Who did this?"

"That's none of your business." He averts his gaze from James'. 

James glares at him. "You're in my apartment. It's my business now."

James wants to add that he's genuinely concerned, but he doesn't know how. He is though, really. This 16 year-old boy seems to be involved in trouble. James thinks back to the table at the pub, with everything strewn on the floor.

Or maybe he's an agent, and James just got tricked into letting him into his apartment.

"Not now," he simply replies, and there's an almost pleading tone in the boy's voice.

"You're going to have to go to the hospital."

"No."

"I can't-"

"If you want me to leave, I'll leave. But I'm not going to the hospital."

James stares at the boy. Hard. "Fine. I'll have to stitch you up then."

He stays silent but James sees his body relax visibly. James rummages through the first aid kit and takes out gauze, saline, a needle and some thread.

First he puts some saline on the piece of gauze and wipes down the wound to clean it. The boy winces as soon as he starts to press slightly hard, his breath catching in his throat. "Sorry," James says quickly. The boy only hums noncommittally in response.

Stitching this boy's wound means having him shirtless, and James can't help but stare. His skin is so soft and pale and the way his hipbones jut out makes Bond feel like he should be throwing this boy out, only because it feels so inappropriate to be close to him. 

When James looks up to see how he's doing, he's got his lip between his teeth, biting down hard. "You ok?"

The boy lets out a breathy laugh at that. "You always seem to be asking me that."

"Maybe because you always seem to be in sticky situations."

James didn't mean for his reply but an innuendo but the boy smirks lazily. James rolls his eyes. He doesn't reply, instead focusing on finishing off the stitching he's doing. He can't see the boy's face as he stitches his wound but he can feel his eyes on him. James doesn't understand how the two of them have ended up like this and he wants to laugh out loud at the prospect.

When James is done, he straightens his back and sighs. "Do you want something to drink?"

"What, like whiskey?" he replies, a grin tugging at the edge of his mouth.

James looks at him pointedly. "No. I mean water."

The boy rolls his eyes. "No thanks."

James needs to message R. The longer he ignores talking to her, the more trouble he'll be in. He pats his jeans' pockets but it's not there. He starts to look around the room, but his attention is drawn back to the boy when he lets out a grunt.

He's standing up, steadying himself with one hand on the sofa. "What are you doing?" James asks, his eyes narrowed.

"I'm leaving, what else?"

"You're not leaving. Take the sofa."

"What?"

"Your wound was fresh, you obviously came here immediately. You thought of coming here first which means that you don't have anyone else to go to, otherwise you would've gone there. So take the sofa."

The boy looks taken aback, at James' deduction or his hospitality, James can't tell. James has a strong feeling it's the latter, though. Then he smiles softly. "You remind me of my brother." James waits silently for the boy to elaborate but he doesn't, instead saying, "Ok, I'll- ok. I'll take the sofa."

James gets a blanket and pillow from his bedroom and gives it to the boy. The boy sets them on the sofa and then starts to unbutton his jeans. James raises an eyebrow. "What? Do you expect me to sleep with my jeans on?"

James sighs once again, quickly grabs his phone from the coffee table, and goes back to his bedroom. He's tempted to look back briefly, catch the boy in only his boxers, but refrains strongly. He's not going to get himself into this.  _This,_ a 16 year-old boy who seemingly has nothing to do rather than flirt with men. He should bloody know better.

In his bedroom, with his phone in his hand, James suddenly doesn't want to talk to R. He's tired. He stalks over to the mirror and looks at his reflection. He looks tired and lonely - pathetically so. Does he look like that to everyone, or is it just him? 

He gets into his bed and fucking wishes he didn't have this life. It seems to exciting to everyone else, he's sure, but he wants to live a normal life. A moment later he says to himself  _God no, a normal life? You wouldn't have a clue what to do._

 

***

 

_Her hair in the water. He can't see her face, it's turned away, but he knows who it is. He would remember her if it was the last thing he knew. He doesn't even know if he's breathing. He isn't aware of his own body. Then he sees his hand reaching out to grab her by the shoulder and it goes straight through. He watches as she disintegrates slowly. He can do nothing but watch in horror._

James jolts awake. His chest heaves as he breathes heavily. He feels his hands shake under the duvet.

As his eyes adjust to the darkness he realises that the door is open.

The boy is standing in the doorway. He's had the decency to pull on his jeans, for which James is oddly grateful. He seems to have woken up and rushed over, because the button on his jeans is still open and his hair is ruffled even more so than normal. He looks so ridiculously soft in the moonlight, with his halo of dark, tousled hair.

It's the boy who breaks the silence. "Do you want me to-"

"No."

James doesn't even let him finish his question. All he knows is that he  _can't -_ he can't indulge in his company. 

"Okay." The boy's voice is tiny. He closes the door behind me as he turns around to leave.

James closes his eyes and wonder whats he was going to ask.  _Do you want me to stay?_ Would James have said yes, if he hadn't panicked and cut him off? 

Would it even matter? Would it mean anything? 

The questions gnaw at his mind for the rest of the night. For once, he has no answers.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I was really excited to write this chapter but now that I have I'm not overly happy with it :/
> 
> Still, hope you enjoyed! Also don't forget to leave a comment, it means the world.


	5. i don't trust you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So so so sorry for the late chapter, hopefully you enjoy it! Not the best I don't think but regardless here you go
> 
> Apologies for typos!

The first thing James remembers when he wakes is the boy standing in the doorway of his bedroom.

The image plays itself over and over again. The boy standing in the moonlight, wearing nothing but jeans and a genuine expression of concern.

He groans as he throws the duvet to the side and sits up. For a moment he just stares out the window because that image is still going round and round his head. James would be lying if he said it doesn't pull at something in his chest.

 

***

 

After having showered, James wanders out of his bedroom to see the boy concentrating on Sky News. He's deeply engrossed in some woman talking about the stock market, his lips moving slightly as he mutters something under his breath.

James pretends what happened last night didn't happen and casually greets the boy. "Morning. What's up with you?" Before he'd thought he'd just have a quick breakfast, tell the boy to either leave if he needs to be anywhere or stay if he wants, and then be on his way. But something makes him sit down on the empty sofa opposite.

"People are stupid, that's what," he replies irritably. 

"Anything new?"

That manages to pull the boy's attention away from the TV. He cracks a smile. "No, I guess not."

James gaze lingers on his lips for a fraction too long. He kicks himself for being so damn distracted and turns his attention to the television. The woman is saying something about China's stock market.

And then the conversation takes an unusual turn - something that seems to occur a lot with this boy. "You want to kiss me."

James glances him. He throws a look that says _You're bloody ridiculous_ , but really he's just about managing to hide the stir of desire in his gut.

"You were staring at my lips. You quickly moved your gaze to the TV but your eyes didn't skim across the screen to read anything. You weren't actually interested in the news, rather you just wanted to distract yourself. From, well.." James reaction is incredulous at best. The boy looks at him with something akin to mischief glinting in his eyes. "You're not the only one who can make deductions."

"I don't even know your name."

The boy hums in acknowledgement. "That's true. Well for the record, it's Q."

James feels his stomach drop. Q? And then his brain is at it again, flying at 100 miles an hour trying to make sense of it. Of this boy. _Q?_ It's dangerously similar to the way M is M and R is R. It seems like a taunt and James can almost imagine himself tied to a chair in the near future and "Q" hovering over him with an evil grin on his face.

Then James looks back at the boy and the scenario falls apart.  _This boy,_ with his wide eyes and fluffy hair. He's fucking 16. How could he honestly harm anyone?

"Q," James simply deadpans, making sure to keep his face neutral.

He shrugs. "I don't like my name." James eyes him warily, for a split second thinking that maybe he shouldn't have left his gun under his pillow. The boy - Q - eyes him back with a slight sense of caution and then asks "And you?"

"What?" James is still in some place in his head, not quite understanding what's his own paranoia and what's valid fear.

"Your name."

"Bond. James Bond," he answers smoothly, feeling some sense of familiarity come back to him at his catchphrase.

"James-" The boy - _fucking Q_ , Bond reminds himself once again - starts to test James' name on his tongue but James interrupts him quickly.

" _Bond_ ," he corrects him pointedly.

"Do you not like your name either?" he teases, eyes sparkling.

"I don't trust you."

It's the truth. When the words leave James' mouth he expects Q to panic, to be offended, but he only replies defiantly by asking, "Why am I here then?"

James feels a lazy smile pull at his mouth. The question is valid. Why _is_ he here? This boy who uncannily calls himself by a letter just like the officials at MI6 do. Who somehow knows where James lives and has been on his case since he came to Brampton.

He decides to ignore the question, instead getting up from the sofa and getting his things ready to leave. Q notices him shuffling around, watches him grab his watch off the coffee table and decides to break the silence.

"Who's Vesper?" James feels himself still, leaning over the coffee table. He slowly straightens back up and turns his head towards Q. "You were saying her name last. When.."

He doesn't finish his sentence. Q only stares at James for a reply. James feels like he's staring right through him.

"About that. Last night. Would you like to tell me who decided to slash your hip with a pocket knife?"

Q hesitates, and James sees him visibly swallow. After a few seconds he finally says, "I'll answer your question if you answer mine."

"It was your boyfriend, wasn't it?" At this point James doesn't even try to hide the accusatory tone in his voice.

"My boyfriend-?" Q's brow creases in confusion and then he barks out a laugh. "Adrian? Adrian isn't my boyfriend."

"Adrian then." James lets the name linger in the air, waiting for an explanation. When none comes he scoffs. "Are you not going to tell me what happened? I can easily find out for myself-"

"What the hell does that mean?" Q cuts him off, his green eyes narrowed.

James opens his mouth but then closes it again, trying to bring the conversation down from whatever tense height it's veering towards.

"Nothing." He looks towards the kitchen, which seems undisturbed. James wonders when Q woke up. "It's 10 o'clock, eat some bloody breakfast."

Then he turns on his heel and without a backwards glance heads to his bedroom to get his gun and phone. He arranges the holster underneath his jacket, slips his gun in, and heads back out into the living room. Q is still sitting on the sofa, fiddling with his phone now. 

The air is charged with awkwardness. "I'm going out." James takes his own phone out and pretends to check his texts, anything to avoid meeting Q's gaze. "Don't leave, obviously. You won't be able to get back in. I don't know when I'll back."

The situation seems like a domestic tiff and James just about stops himself from laughing out loud at the prospect. 

He stalks over to the door. He had decided that he needs to stop staring at the boy as if he's pathetically in love with him. But still, he manages to sneak a quick look at him - his sharp profile, the soft pout of his lips - before he leaves.

Eve would say he's absolutely _whipped._

 

***

 

  
James slips his comm into his ear from the pocket of his jacket and turns it on. "Ready to report."

He feels slightly averse with anticipation as he waits for R or maybe one of the minions to reply. R is always at R-Branch ready to assist on any mission or respond to any query.

He continues to walk down the empty road as he waits. It's only about 8 minutes later that he hears R's voice on the comm. "007." Her voice is stiff and James braces himself for the onslaught of criticism to come.

"R."

"I'm ready for an explanation."

"He's a boy I've seen around and he needed-"

"Let's start with identifying marks."

James feels himself tense at that. "He's not a target."

There's a pause, one in which James allows himself to reflect on what the hell he's doing. He doesn't see why he's protecting Q, but at the same he absolutely does. Despite all the signs, he can't be an enemy agent. It's just James' paranoia. It has to be.

"Okay. Still I'll need his name for records."

"I don't know his name." It's not a lie, _really_. He doesn't know his name - Q is just what the boy calls himself.

The conversation is getting more and more strained with every answer of James'. He waits for his next instructions patiently, stopping at a bus stop and sitting on the red bench.

"There's an event at the town hall in approximately a week. Black tie. We have cause to believe that more Persons of Interest will be attending."

James mulls this information over. He's the only one gathering intel which means that the only way R can know of this event is if the criminal mastermind in question has contacted MI6. He contemplates asking R about it but then comes to the conclusion that if R wanted to tell James she'd already have done so.

"Understood," he simply says. He watches the cars go by, feeling a slight sense of detachment. The event being in a week means that until then he doesn't need to do anything except for wait. And then there's Q waiting for him back at his apartment.

"That'll be all then 007. You'll be contacted by R-Branch closer to the event." With that she signs off, leaving James to gaze vacantly at the asphalt in silence.

He decides to go to the pub instead. Not _The Lucky Star_ , but one that's far away from his work as a double-O agent, just for the day.

 

  
***

 

  
James comes back to his apartment feeling buzzed. Not drunk, he wouldn't say. He's got quite a high tolerance for alcohol. But he's definitely had a lot. (How much James defines as a lot is a discussion for another day).

Q is sitting on the floor, brow furrowed in concentration as he tinkers with what seems to be the remains of his laptop. It's not really his - it came with the apartment - but still.

Q's head snaps up at the door opening. He pushes his fringe out of his eyes and James is so helplessly endeared for a moment that his mind goes absolutely blank.

"Hi."

"What on Earth are you doing with my laptop?"

"I got bored. Um, so I well.." He looks down apologetically at the laptop on the floor. "It hadn't been used - the amount of dust on it corresponded to how long you've been here, so I thought you wouldn't really miss it. I mean it's salvageable, I was just playing around with the motherboard so if you want it I can put it back together-"

"You're rambling," James interrupts Q, a smile on his lips.

Q flushes in embarrassment and James decides that this boy sitting on his apartment floor is one of the most beautiful people he has ever seen.

God, he's drunk.

James shrugs his jacket off and joins Q on the floor. Q seems surprised at this and then they're ridiculously close. Their knees are touching and James thinks he could count his eyelashes if he wanted to.

Q himself seems slightly distracted by their proximity - James can see it in his eyes - and he smirks lazily.

"You seem to be in an inebriated state."

James finds himself laughing. "Inebriated state? God, you're so..." Gorgeous. "I don't know. Don't know the word. But you're a lot of it. "

Q seems to consider James' reply. He also seems to be at a loss for words, and James doesn't understand how he can be so bashful and awkward now when since the first day they met all he's done is flirted with him.

James realises that whilst telling Q how terrible he is for saying "inebriated state" he's somehow leaned ridiculously close to the boy. James leans closer still, only a fraction of a centimetre, but he sees how Q's pupils seem to dilate and God he _wants_.  
  
Then he remembers that this boy is 16, that he might possibly have a boyfriend, that he might possibly be an agent out to _kill_ him, and the moment is shattered. James tries to order his thoughts and even Q seems to snap out of it, turning his attention to the laptop he's mutilated.

Q's hand goes to rub the back of his neck.

James clear his throat.

He gets up off the floor. "I have a lot of work to do. A lot. So well, have fun. Doing whatever you're doing. Motherboard, right."

He doesn't wait for reply, instead trudging across the apartment to his room, making sure to close the door behind him. Then he flops onto his bed and waits for absolutely nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao sorry if this was shit af. Also please don't forget to leave a comment, it means the world


	6. you broke his nose?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to say to all the people reading so far - thanks! 
> 
> Also enjoy

The next couple of days go by in a languorous manner.

They slip into a sort of routine. Q always wakes up before James, always murmuring expletives under his breath at something or the other on the news channel.

They have breakfast together, as well, for some reason. On their second morning together, as soon as James comes out of his bedroom Q says "Hurry up would you, I'm starving," and James, slightly dazed, joins him at the kitchen table.

It turns out Q has a strong affinity for Earl Grey, and James thanks whoever stocked his apartment for leaving heaps of the stuff.

There are moments where Q seems slightly suspicious of things, like the fact that there are about 20 varieties of tea in the cupboard under the microwave ("Even I don't love tea this much"). And then when he asks James what his favourite rom-com is.

"Rom-coms are terrible," James says distastefully, wondering where the conversation is going.

To which Q's reply is to open one of the drawers of the TV unit, revealing a whole collection of them. James goes from thanking the people who set up his apartment to cursing them, flushing under Q's amused grin.

Then there are the moments where James feels like he's going crazy.

Like when he offers to check Q's wound, and instead of just lifting the hem of his shirt Q decides to take his shirt off and sit on the back of the sofa invitingly, legs swinging.

Or when James is smoking a cigarette and Q asks for one. James lies that it's his last one out of a sense of morality and Q leans over, plucks the cigarette from James' mouth and puts it between his own lips, like it's nothing.

Q isn't all grins and bold moves though. Half the time he's tinkering away (he's moved on from James' laptop to the kettle) and he's always terribly focused on his technological endeavours, biting down on his bottom lip with narrowed eyes behind his fringe.

The next day Q seems to be done with both the laptop and kettle. James walks into the kitchen and he's sitting on the marble floor with his legs crossed (he does that a lot, sit on floors rather than chairs) and a zombie-like expression on his face.

"What are you doing on the floor?" he asks. The answer seems to be waiting for the kettle to boil, but there's something about Q sitting on the floor that's incongruous to simply waiting for a cup of tea.

"Waiting."

"For?"

Q doesn't reply, simply twists his head to take another look at the kettle.

A few moments later, as if on cue, the kettle makes the sound the doorbell usually makes. James looks towards the door instinctively, and then realises Q's somehow implemented the doorbell's sound into the kettle.

"Okay, now I am officially bored."

He sounds absolutely exasperated.

"What, you don't have any more tinkering opportunities around my apartment?"

Q huffs. "There's only so much I can do without my equipment."

"Your equipment?"

He sighs, standing up. "Yes, my equipment. Unfortunately it's stuck in my old apartment with that dickhead of a roommate Adrian."

James raises his eyebrow. It's the first time Q has mentioned Adrian since James confronted him about and Q confronted James about Vesper.

He's not sure where they stand when it comes to discussing him, so he simply says, "Right. Well, I have a few errands to run so I'm going to pop off."

He never stays in the apartment for the whole day - with Q there, it seems evil, having him in reach but not being able to do anything about it. Normally he goes to the pub. Even though he's on a break, waiting for that black tie event R mentioned, it's good to people-watch.

Today, he decides to take a little detour.

 

 

***

 

 

James has to make some bullshit about Adrian being a potential Person of Interest. It takes a bit of persuasion, but finally R gives the man's address to him.

James is standing in front of his apartment door now, and he honestly hopes Q hasn't been living here long, because the apartment seems to be in a terrible state. It's in some dingy block on the other side of town. The door has a knocker - or rather had, it's been broken off now - and the lock looks like it's been picked one too many times.

He knocks on the door firmly, and waits.

The door opens and Adrian's standing there, a puzzled look on his face. "Who the hell are you?"

"I'm here for Q's stuff," he says, deciding to cut to the chase.

Adrian scoffs. "You can tell that little bitch-"

James wastes no time in kicking at Adrian's ankles, causing him to lose his balance, and then pushing him by the shoulder. He stumbles backwards, hitting the floor, and James quickly slips into the apartment, closing the door behind him.

Adrian goes to get up and James lets him, unfazed. Adrian is all bark and no bite, and James almost feels sorry for the man.

James looks around unsuspectingly at the apartment. It somehow looks even worse on the inside than the outside. There are takeaway boxes strewn everywhere, and James wouldn't think it's that hard to keep the cushions on the sofa, but even those are on the floor. It seems like the apartment's usual state, and yet James can't imagine Q living like this.

There are two doors leading off to other rooms, and James starts to walk over to the nearest one. He opens the door, ("Mate what the fuck?") and peers inside. There are two computers set up, and James realises that Adrian and Q share the bedroom.

He tries his utmost best to quell the voice at the back of his mind telling him to break Adrian's fucking arm or something.

Conveniently, he spies a cardboard box in the corner, marked with a large 'Q' in black marker. He hopes that means he hasn't been living very long with Adrian, and turns to the guy. "Put all his stuff in that box, would you?"

"Look, I don't know who you think you are-"

James looks around the bedroom again, thinks back to Q's extensive knowledge of technology and the internet, and concludes that the both of them are hackers. "Do you want me to let the police know you've been hacking from here?" Adrian's face falls at that, and he seems visibly frightened. _Good_ , James thinks to himself. "Hurry up."

Adrian slowly moves towards the bedroom door. James rolls his eyes, moving out of the way to seem less threatening, and Adrian shuffles in hesitantly, going around the room and grabbing various things.

James leans against the wall and waits.

For some reason James expects Adrian to take long, but he's done in less than five minutes. The box is barely half full, except for the laptop wedged in diagonally which takes up quite a lot of space.

James glares at him. "Are you sure that's all?"

"Yeah. Yeah, that's all of it, I swear."

James grabs the box off him, shifts it to his left arm as he opens the door with his right, and plops it on the floor outside the apartment. When he turns around, Adrian seems relieved that James is finally about to go, but when James close the door again his brow furrows in confusion.

"Now you're going to tell me what happened."

"What do you mean, what happened?"

James shoots him an incredulous look. "You know what I'm talking about. The day you kicked him out-"

"I didn't kick him out."

"Don't lie. It's unflattering, even on the stupidest of people," James quips.

That gets Adrian going. He pulls back his arm, stepping forward to swing at James' face. James reflexes kick in at lightning speed: he grabs Adrian's arm and pins him against the wall. He presses his elbow against his throat, watches as his eyes widen underneath the pressure.

"Let's try again."

"I.." He physically swallows, and a sweat is breaking out on his brow. "I wanted to hack the police database. Get rid of a charge for drink driving. He wouldn't help me, I... I got pissed."

"What, and you decided to slash him with a pocket knife?" He doesn't answer. He seems embarrassed at recounting his actions now that he's confronted. Pathetic. James slightly increases the pressure against his neck. "I want to hear you say it."

"Yes. Yes, I did. But I was angry-"

James lets go of his hold on Adrian. He steps back, brushes the dirt off his hands. "I don't care. Here's what you're going to do. You're going to call him in an hour and you're going to apologise."

"Why the fuck should I apologise?" Adrian is angry now, babbling on about how Q should've helped him. "I mean, he doesn't even pay rent and..." he falters off and then says, "Who are you anyway?"

"That's none of your business."

A glint comes into his eyes. "He doesn't pay any bloody rent. I mean he let me fuck him a few times but-"

James knows he's just trying to get a rise out of him, but he punches him in the face all the same. The crunch of his nose is a satisfying noise, and Adrian doubles up to cup his nose. When he straightens up again James notices he's hit him hard enough for his nose to be spurting blood everywhere.

He leaves him to curse loudly about his "broken nose", grabs the box of Q's stuff, and makes his way back to his apartment. 

 

 

***

 

 

When James walks into his apartment, it's empty. He can hear the water running in the bathroom though, so he puts Q's box on the sofa and sits next to it.

He waits to hear the tap turn off. Q exits the bathroom drying his hands dry with some toilet paper. "I thought I should I just let you know that there's no towel in..." His eyebrows shoot up when he registers the box on the sofa. "No. _No way_. You got my stuff?" 

He hurries over to the box and rummages through it, checking if all his stuff is there, James supposes. He looks up at James and smiles so widely at him that James' aching hand from the punch he gave Adrian is suddenly absolutely worth it. 

"Can't have you sulking around because you have nothing to do."

"God, you're the fucking best." 

James tries to keep a straight face at that, but he still ends up grinning. "I guess I am, aren't I?"

Q only hums in reply, becoming distracted by his laptop. Then a thoughtful expression clouds his face. "Wait, how did you get my stuff?"

"I just asked him. He was happy to cooperate."

Q's expression becomes even more confused at that. "That doesn't sound like Adrian at all."

James ignores the pang of jealousy he feels at the intimacy Q's reply implies and checks his watch. There are a few minutes left until Adrian should be calling. He prides himself on his impeccable timing and pulls his phone out while he's waiting. Q's balanced his laptop on his knees, starting it up. 

James is scrolling through the news app on his phone when Q's phone rings. He glances out of the corner of his eye to see Q staring down at the name on his phone, perplexed. For a moment James thinks he won't pick it up.

"Hello?" James looks up at Q from his phone, gauging his reaction. "Why on Earth are you apologising to me?" he asks Adrian. Q then proceeds to look at James knowingly. "Right well. Thanks for sending my stuff over," he says stiffly. Then: "You had no choice?"

James shrugs at Q as if he has no idea why Adrian might say that. 

Q doesn't even say bye to Adrian, cutting the call. "Would you like to tell me what happened exactly?"

James clears his throat. "I may or may not have broke his nose."

"You  _broke his nose?_ " James can't tell if Q raises his voice out of being defensive or simply not believing James. And then he says, "Tell me everything."

And James does, leaving out the part about Adrian sleeping with Q, of course. By the end of it, Q's smile is brighter than the moon. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, don't forget to leave a comment x


	7. Q?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO SO SORRY for the late chapter. 
> 
> This chapter is late as hell, and to all the people reading despite my trashy updating, thank you and enjoy!

_James is at Skyfall._

_Flakes of snow slowly drift down from the pale sky. James doesn't know what he's doing there but there's a strange sense of foreboding nestled deep in his gut that makes him want to run._

_For a second it feels like he's about to. He turns around and his Aston Martin is there, in front of the gates, covered in a thin layer of snow._

_"James."_

_He whips his head back to the estate. No-one is there, but the door is now open. He can't even remember whose voice called him mere seconds ago - only that he needs to go and find out._

_He doesn't even have to go past the hallway to see who it is. He'd imagined spending hours and hours searching for the elusive person, for some reason. Now though, they're right in front of him._

_A man is strangling his mother. His father has already been dealt with, his limp body face down a few feet away._

_Before he can do anything to help, the man with his hands around James' mother's neck turns to look at him._

_James is so confused that for a moment he doesn't understand what he's staring at. Then he realises that it's his own piercing blue eyes, staring back at him._

James' eyes fly open as he's jerked out of his dream, and the first thing he notices is the shaft of light across his bed coming from his open bedroom door.

James always closes his bedroom door. It must be Q's doing, but Q isn't there. 

"Q?"

A few moments, and then Q is there, standing in his doorway, as if manifested out of nowhere. James feels such a heavy sense of déjà vu that he has to close his eyes for a fraction of a second. He opens them and Q is still there. He looks helplessly ethereal, but there is an awkward expression on his face, his brow pinched in a way that makes James want to smooth a thumb over it.

"Sorry - I'm. . . I'll go. You were having a nightmare again so I just-"

"It's okay," James interrupts. Q's reaction to his nightmare is so different to the first time that James feels like he should perhaps be mourning for that old Q, the one who would ask James if he wanted him to stay. James realises that it's been his own rebuttals over the days that have pushed Q further and further away from him. One incident that comes to mind is that very evening when Q had decided to sit on the same sofa as him. Ever since Q has moved in, so to speak, they've kept to their respective sofas, Q on the one he sleeps on and James on the one adjacent. It's been an unspoken rule, James had thought, until Q decided to not only sit next to him, but sit next to him in a manner that resulted in knees and shoulders pressed warmly against each other.

James had given him a reproachful look. He hadn't meant for it to be scathing. But after Q had immediately left the room with the excuse to grab a glass of water and then returned to sit on the other sofa - James' sofa - James realised that he had been quite cruel.

And yet here Q is, looking pale with worry, and James' heart _aches_.

James doesn't know why he does what he does next. Maybe it's because he feels Q's concern in his chest, pulling at something. Maybe it's the night, the dark promising James that whatever this is will be gone by morning, when the sun chases away those lingering wisps of black.

He pulls the duvet by the corner, revealing a space beside him for Q. Then his brain catches up with his arm and he feels his hand twitch, as if trying to take back the action.

Q has this look on his face, as if puzzling something out. It's the sort of look James would expect Q to have when trying to plot his next chess move, or when reading a particularly abstruse novel. James is embarrassed.

His fingers toy with the soft corner of the duvet as he scrambles for words. "Never mind. You don't have to. . ."

His voice falters, drifting off, when Q starts to fumble with the hallway's light switch, which is right outside James' bedroom door. Q keeps his gaze trained on James the whole time, with a sort of lazy intensity that makes James look away. 

When the soft light turns into darkness Q pushes the door closed slightly and makes his way towards the bed. James watches with curiosity as he slowly moves towards him, feeling around in the slight darkness for the empty side of the bed.

There's a moment where Q's fingers brush the inside of his wrist and James' breath catches in his throat.

Q pays no mind, settling comfortably under the duvet. Then comes the slight awkwardness, with both of them simply staring up at the ceiling in silence. James doesn't quite know what to say - or whether he should say anything at all - so it comes as a relief when Q breaks the silence.

"What was it about?"

James turns his head to blink at Q sluggishly. "What?"

"Your. . dream."

James takes a second to assess the situation he's in. He doesn't know how to respond. He wishes he had a comm link in his ear so that someone could guide him through how to talk about it.

But then again, you can't be taught some things.  

"It was about my parents."

Q hums, mulling over James' reply. Maybe he can sense James' trepidation, or he simply wants to explain himself, but either way he says, "It helps to talk about it. When one has nightmares." He seems to be talking from experience, but James can't bring himself to ask. "Tell me about them."

They're both back to staring at the ceiling. "I used to live with them on an estate in Scotland. My father was Scottish, my mother Swiss." James thinks back to the endless travelling from one place to the other like he was on some sort of world tour rather than living his life. "The estate was big. And cold." 

James kind of loses himself at that. He falls deep in thought and he can't remember the last time he's done that - really thought about his childhood, his parents. Q's voice pulls him back to reality. "You don't say "home"."

"What?" 

"You say "the estate". Not "home"."

James isn't sure if there's a question there or not. "Yes, well. I guess I loved my parents, but I didn't like them much."

Q hums to himself again. "That makes sense. A lot of sense, actually."

"What about yours then?"

This time Q seems to be caught off guard. He turns to look at James with dark eyes. "My parents?"

"Your family, yes."

Q takes a deep breath. "My parents are normal. Perfectly mundane."

"And what about the brother that I remind you of?" 

James sees the corner of Q's mouth quirk up in a small smile from the corner of his eye. "He's a detective. Terribly bright. He first realised he was fascinated with murders and the like when he was twelve. There was this case about a boy who drowned. The police didn't seem to notice any foul play but he knew something was wrong because of the boy's shoes."

Despite himself, James finds himself intrigued. "His shoes?"

"They were missing. They'd just disappeared. He wrote to the police but they brushed it off. He was right though, of course. The murderer had taken the shoes because they showed that poison had been mixed into the boy's eczema cream."

They fall into a silence again, but this time it isn't uncomfortable. James thinks about this detective brother of Q's, and how James reminds Q of him.

_Terribly bright._

James smiles to himself. Then he lies there in the dark, as his thoughts are replaced by the soft sounds of Q's breathing.


End file.
